


caught the edge of a knife and it hurts just a little

by humanveil



Category: Star Wars (Marvel Comics), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Age of Resistance (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Exes, M/M, Star Wars: Age of Resistance - General Hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 15:56:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20428562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: “Let me look,” Ren says. More of a demand. His hand reaches for Hux’s chin, fingers notably bare. Hux jerks away, irritation radiating off him in waves, but Ren merely tries again. Hux’s hatred doesn’t affect him—never had.The bastard.





	caught the edge of a knife and it hurts just a little

**Author's Note:**

> okay look. i haven't written for kylux in well over a year, and this is a pretty basic fic, but the hux comic has thrown me right back into the kylux trash pit and i had to write _something_. it was going to have smut, but it's three am and i don't actually _like_ writing smut, soooo. maybe next time. hope you like it anyway!

The planet they’ve landed on is, if nothing else, beautiful. All bright colours and intricate greenery. Hux trails his gaze over every detail he can find: tries to calculate how they can survive. Their ship is blown to shreds, the shuttle and all its other occupants scattered amongst the trees. They’ve been walking for what feels like hours, now, and there are still no signs of other occupants. No houses, no burrows, no civilisation. More importantly, they’re no closer to finding a means of communication. Have nothing, but each other. 

_Like that’s any consolation. _

At the very least, they’ll need the essentials. Water, shelter. Food if they can get it. The sky is darkening rapidly, dark reds and blues mixing together to paint stripes of purple across the horizon. Ren has drawn his attention to the ground more than once, his gloved hand pointing out patches of earth littered with paw prints. If the size is anything to go by, the creatures are ones Hux would prefer not to encounter. Regardless of Ren’s confidence in his ability to combat them. 

A hand shoots out, Ren’s fingers grabbing hold of his shoulder. Bringing him to a halt. “Listen,” he says, stopping beside him. Hux stills on reflex, looking every which way to understand what Ren’s going on about. He barely catches it: the gentle drip in the distance, like a steady rush of—

“Water,” he realises, a flicker of hope lighting his chest.

“Running water,” Ren amends, and Hux ignores the urge to roll his eyes. _Like it matters._ He tries to determine what direction it’s coming from, but Ren is already stomping off to the left, shoulders straight with determination. Hux takes one glance at the nearest paw print and follows.

It turns out to be a stream: thin and hidden behind a bed of trees, the water a clear, glistening purple. The flow is slow, the earth beneath made up of stones, varying in their shapes and sizes. Hux looks for signs of life but finds few. They must have circled, he thinks, because the mess their shuttle made can be seen far off in the distance, and he swears they’d walked further than that.

Behind him, he hears the hiss of Ren’s mask opening, the thud as he drops it to the floor. “This will do,” he says, definitive. Hux looks at him with an arched eyebrow, and Ren points to the sky, expression making clear what he thinks of Hux’s intelligence. “Light will be gone soon,” he explains. “Do you want to work in the dark?”

It’s not worth arguing over. Especially not when Ren is right. Hux sighs, says, “See what you can salvage from the shuttle.”

It’s their best bet at a base; something sturdy that will hold. Ren does as told, stalking off toward the crash site. Hux helps by gathering other materials, things that might be able to strengthen their shelter, but mostly he looks for indicators as to whether the area is toxic or not. It looks promising: there are bright pink fruits growing on trees, some sort of fish further down the stream. They won’t need most of it tonight, but later down the line… Well. It could be their one chance at survival.

Ren works in silence, building a makeshift hut with everything they managed to get their hands on. Hux settles down by the water’s edge as he does, tears a shred of fabric from his uniform and plunges it into the stream. His head aches. His face is cut, a thick layer of blood dried against his cheek. He wipes at it carefully, cleans it as best he can.

“You could have helped,” Ren says later, as he comes to stand beside him, gaze flickering over the wound that cuts across Hux’s forehead. He meets Hux’s eye, the edge of his mouth twitching lightly. Hux knows that expression. _Had _known that expression. It brings back memories: old and distant, bright with the ghost of humour. Hux swallows; tries to ignore it. A feat that’s made more difficult when Ren adds, “Or did you prefer to watch?” 

The innuendo is clear. Ren’s tone drips with it: low and deep, carefully constructed. Hux turns away from him and refuses to dignify it with a response. Doesn’t have one to give. 

He moves toward the shelter; appraises Ren’s work. It’s decent—will do for the night, at least. The light is all but gone, now, and what little remains casts their opening in a gentle glow. Hux sits, cushioned by a bed made of leaves, and tries to think.

It’s easier said than done.

Ren settles beside him with little grace, uncaring that he sits far too close; the concept of personal space not one he seems to care for. “Let me look,” he says. More of a demand. His hand reaches for Hux’s chin, fingers notably bare. Hux jerks away, irritation radiating off him in waves, but Ren merely tries again. Hux’s hatred doesn’t affect him—never had. _The bastard. _

“I don’t need—” Hux starts, and Ren rolls his eyes.

“I’m better at this than you.”

_“Better?”_ Hux spits the word. Voice thick with indignation. “Just because you’re a blubbering idiot who can’t go a day without hur—”

He’s cut short as Ren’s fingers press into his cheek. It’s not a gentle touch; is meant to shut him up. Pain spreads immediately and a groan catches in Hux’s throat. He swallows it just in time, pushes at Ren’s hands until they fall away.

“I don’t need—” he tries again, but it’s useless. Ren’s already leaning over him, eyes fixed on torn flesh.

“You’re bleeding,” he says unhelpfully. Hux snorts.

_“Your_ impact.”

He lifts the cloth back to his face, is all too aware of Ren’s eyes on him. It’s strange, this. All of it: the crash, the planet, the proximity. The fact that Ren had _saved_ him. Unintentionally or not.

It makes his head ache for another reason entirely.

“You need to apply pressure,” Ren says, and then he’s lifting his hand again, fingers settling over Hux’s own. Hux exhales at the contact. Has to work to stop his eyes from fluttering shut. He hates that his body still reacts like this, like something too ingrained to unlearn. It’s pitiful.

“Ren—” he says, but it’s not as harsh as he’d have liked. He trails off, and they’re close enough that his breath must hit Ren’s face, that he can feel the warmth of Ren’s body. He still hasn’t pulled away.

Ren’s mouth twitches again, familiar still. “What?” he asks. Swipes his tongue across his lower lip, teeth following. “You don’t want to?”

It’s clear what he wants, what he’s aiming for. A sigh presses against Hux’s teeth. “We agreed—”

It’s Ren’s turn to snort. Loud and humourless. “We also have no communications,” he points out. As if Hux isn’t already aware. “We could die here.”

“Astute observation,” he deadpans. “What are you suggesting? A quick fuck in a rundown tent before we starve to death? How very romantic.”

Ren grins: quick and feral. Hux regrets his words almost immediately. “Your idea, not mine,” he jokes, and there’s an underlying mischief that Hux recognises. It makes him turn away. 

He removes his hand from his face, though Ren’s stays put. A thumb brushes over his cheek: gentle, mockingly tender. It coaxes Hux to turn back. Meet Ren’s eye again. He tries his hardest not to lean into the touch.

“Might as well go out with a bang,” Ren murmurs, smirking at his own joke. Hux exhales, almost a sigh. His eyes shut, and then he’s leaning forward.

He tells himself it isn’t genuine desire that drives the kiss, but rather a need to stifle the _literally _he knows sits on the tip of Ren’s tongue.

-

Later, when Hux wakes, it’s to a loud, menacing growl. He’s cushioned against Ren’s chest: bare as his usual robes work as a makeshift blanket. The arm that’s curled around his middle is holding Ren’s ridiculous lightsabre, and when he looks up, it’s to find a blaster pointed at him, a large, blue creature standing behind the owner’s shoulder.

“Who are you?” Ren asks, taking initiative. He doesn’t move, though. Just spares the creature a glance while Hux assess the newcomer: first the weapon and then the uniform. _Alderaan,_ his mind supplies. _Should be easy._

“Bylsma,” the man replies, clearly weary. “Who are _you?”_

Ren opens his mouth to respond, but Hux digs his elbow against whatever he can reach; silencing him before he can speak. They don’t need Ren’s theatrics.

He can handle this one.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, you can find me at [twitter](https://twitter.com/irnstrk) / [tumblr](http://humanveil.tumblr.com/)


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